


Hurt Me Cause You Should

by caelystrae



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-08-03 22:40:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16334594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caelystrae/pseuds/caelystrae
Summary: When Ana thought about how this would go, about Angela making her scream in frustration, she rather hoped it would be frustration of a different sort.  “Angela,” says she, too annoyed to be as gentle as she should, “If you’re too rough I’ll tell you, but I should think, given how many bullets you havepersonallyremoved from my body, you’d know that I can stand a little pain.”Or,Ana is not quite so good at giving up control as she ought to be.





	Hurt Me Cause You Should

**Author's Note:**

> today (or i guess yesterday by like... a few hrs but whos counting) the theme for let ana fuck week was top/bottom so. we have here a little bit of both... mostly bottoming but u know. "switching" wasnt an option.
> 
> this fic is set before the others ive done for this week by... several years. its post uprising and retribution and like two weeks pre widowmaker incident. anas in a pretty rough place and it Shows. tomorrow (or... later today) we will be back to the fluffier present day

What Ana and Angela have is not a relationship.  Instead, they have an arrangement—or, at least, if one were to ask Ana, that is what she would say—and like most arrangements, it comes with _terms_.  One of them is thus: in cases where they have a significant, public disagreement about a course of action that Overwatch should take, the winner, namely whomever Jack ultimately sides with, is allowed to top the other afterwards.  Privately, of course.

This is rigged, or meant to be; Ana is Jack’s second in command, and her morals and methodology more closely align with his, and so she always, _always_ wins, which is exactly as she and Angela intended.  Having such an agreement has only ever been a pretense, a pretext under which they can vent their frustrations with one another after such an argument, and not have to talk about it.  It is a pretense until, suddenly, it is not, because one day, the unthinkable happens.

Angela wins.

When it happens, Ana feels foolish for not having seen it coming—Jack has been retreating, of late, into himself, increasingly ignoring her counsel, his decision making process growing increasingly erratic as outside pressure on Overwatch mounts.  Recently, Ana had to dress down Angela for telling Reinhardt that she believes Jack’s ability to lead may be compromised, for such insubordination is unacceptable, but privately, she agrees.

If she had foresight, she might have called this off, but Jack surprised both of them, and Ana has too much pride to go back on her word, is affronted when Angela suggests she might allow that.

Ana made a decision, and she can live with the consequences; any implication otherwise is, frankly, an offense.

Still, it _has_ been a long time since she allowed someone else to take control—she does not like the feeling of powerlessness as much as she used to before the Omnic Crisis—and she finds herself struggling to stay in her role even before they begin.

“Are you sure,” Angela asks her again, “That you want to do this?”

“Yes,” she says, too shortly, and has to correct herself to something more deferential, “Yes, please.”

When Angela asks, rather than orders, her to remove her clothes, she says nothing, does not say _You should tell me to do it_ , or _You could not force me if I were not willing_ , because while both of those things are true, it is not for her to say, not tonight, and perhaps it is just taking Angela some time to settle into her role.

When Angela tacks on a _please_ after _Kneel_ , Ana thinks _You should have pushed me_ , but again she says nothing, does nothing other than what is asked of her, for perhaps the problem is simply that Angela does not like to use physical force.

When Angela says _On all fours_ , the correction is far too gentle, does not come with a swat or a threat of punishment, as she herself would do, and Ana begins to wonder if Angela’s hesitation, her offer that Ana might back down from their agreement, was more for her own sake than Ana’s own.

The next few minutes all but confirm her suspicions.  Instead of being rough with her, Angela’s teasing takes the form of light touches to her hips and the inside of her thighs, fingers ghosting over her side and sliding around her to play with her breasts—enough to leave her wanting, yes, but when she whines in a request for more she is not denied it; Angela gives in nearly immediately, moves a hand to rub at Ana’s folds and she is gentle, _too_ gentle.

If Ana were the one in charge, if she had ordered Angela to touch her, and her lover had done the same, then it might be acceptable, but like this?  Like this, knowing that Angela is meant to be dominating her, that they are _angry_ with one another, or ought to be—it feels wrong.  Ana is not glass, she will not shatter if Angela is rough with her, does not need to be pitied, to be let off easily only because she _lost_ one time.

It is an insult.

(Even Sam was better than this, learned to be rough with her when she needed it, believed her when she said that it was what she wanted, _needed_ from him at the time.)

How can she escape the embarrassment she feels at the loss, the shock of it, if she is not being distracted from it, forced to focus on her body and her orders and nothing else?  Does Angela think she is too weak to take the punishment she has earned?

And where is the passion from only two hours before, the intensity with which Angela argued?  Why is there none left for her now?  She knows that if Angela tried, she has it in her to be cruel, no matter the saintly show she puts on for others—where is it when Ana wants it?

When she lost, she thought this might be good for her, might be some relief from the pressure of command that has lately been nigh on inescapable, the increasingly vulnerable position Overwatch finds itself in weighing heavily in her mind.  Instead, it is not so at all, is only another reminder that she is perhaps the _only_ person on this base capable of taking command.

The longer Angela touches her—maddeningly softly, but not in such a way that it winds here up, makes her desperate for more—the more disinterested Ana grows, until Angela presses a kiss between her shoulder blades and she decides he has had enough.

“Stop,” says she, and Angela does, immediately, taking a step back and away from Ana.  “This isn’t working.  Are you even enjoying it?”

“Ah,” Angela’s embarrassment colors her voice, “No.”

Ana refrains—only very nearly—from asking if she has to do everything around here, only holds back because that frustration, at least, is not Angela’s fault, and instead offers a solution, “I can talk you through it, if you’d prefer?”

(It is not the same, of course—Angela can still enjoy taking orders, this way, and Ana will not be ceding control at all, but at least she will not feel as if she is being treated like someone who is _too delicate_ to handle this sort of thing.  She is not fragile, this will not break her, _Overwatch_ will not break her, even if she feels, lately, as if it might, feels like Jack and Gabriel are pulling her apart, and the weight of the things she has done in the greater good is suffocating her.  If that cannot break her, how could Angela?)

“Yes,” Angela agrees almost _too_ quickly, “Please.”

“Stand between my legs, closer than you were,” she feels it when Angela has complied, still clothed legs bumping against the back of her own bare thighs.  “Better,” says she, and she cannot see her lover’s face, but she can _sense_ the way Angela brightens at the praise, pictures it perfectly in her mind.

(A part of her wants to be cruel about it, make some comment about how Angela is so, _so_ eager to please, it disgusts her—but despite their frustration with one another lately, despite the insults they have traded, now is not the place.  Right now, Angela is uncertain, is still learning, and if she is too harsh with her, her lover will fold beneath the pressure.  It is up to Ana to be the strong one, it always, _always_ is.)

“Good,” says she, “You have more leverage from here.  Now grab my hair with one hand and pull it.”

The tug she receives in response is tentative at best, and she barely refrains from rolling her eyes.

“Harder, Angela,” she says, “Like you mean it.”  Another weak tug, and she adds, “I won’t let you hurt me,” and _that_ is gratifying, the yank she gets in response, forcing her to move to a kneeling position if she wants to avoid pain, face tilting upwards as she does so.

“Like this?” Angela asks her, voice still uncertain, not matching the power behind the motion in the least.

“Yes,” Ana confirms, but she knows Angela can do better, “But you need to sound more sure of yourself.  You’re in control, aren’t you?”

(Nevermind, of course, that she is not—but that is the thing about power, sometimes just _pretending_ that one is in control of a situation is enough to make it so, or to fool oneself into believing that one is.)

“Right,” Angela agrees, voice shifting in pitch closer to the one she uses in their little _conversations_ with Jack, steadier and more even.  “I can do this.”

Ana is not convinced, but Angela surprises her, then, moves her free hand around to Ana’s front to pull at one of her nipples roughly.  It is good—but then Ana gasps in response, sharply, and Angela says “Sorry, too much?”

When Ana thought about how this would go, about Angela making her scream in frustration, she rather hoped it would be frustration of a _different_ sort.  “Angela,” says she, too annoyed to be as gentle as she should, “If you’re too rough _I’ll tell you_ , but I should think, given how many bullets you have _personally_ removed from my body, you’d know that I can stand a little pain.”

“You shouldn’t say that so lightly,” Angela says then, and perhaps _Ana_ was the one being too gentle, before, because _this_ at last gets a rise out of Angela, has her using a tone that makes Ana wetter than she will ever admit to.  “I won’t always be there to patch you up when you get yourself into trouble because you were too _proud_ and too _stubborn_ to trust someone else to do their job.”

When she says it, she leans down to hiss the words in Ana’s ear, punctuates them by again pulling roughly at Ana’s nipples with one hand, the other still holding Ana in a position where she strains to see Angela from the corner of her eye.

(What she says is not true, of course, Ana is not cavalier with her safety—would not be here, still, after so many years in the field, were that the case.  No one gets lucky every time.  Truly, Ana only steps in when she _needs_ to, it is only that she needs to do so often, because she is the best at what she does.  She knows this, and Angela must too, but hearing it said to her makes shame pool in her gut, and arousal with it; _this_ is what she wanted.)

Ana makes a mistake then, underestimates Angela, allows herself to get lost in her thoughts for a moment, such that it surprises her when her hair is suddenly released, and her head, which had been pulling against the hand in it, jerks forwards, throwing her slightly off balance, and she thinks Angela will break character, again, will ask her if she alright.  Instead, Angela does nothing of the sort, moves to kneel, too, as if nothing happened, and brings her fingers roughly against Ana’s clit.  It is too much, too sudden, but somehow that makes it all the better, and Ana rocks into the motion as best she can without upsetting her balance yet again.

While she touches Ana, rubs her roughly, Angela continues to berate her for her supposed carelessness, her hubris—says it will be the death of her, one day—and Ana flushes in shame and arousal both, knows that if only Angela would give her a little more, she could come like this.

(Perhaps Angela is not telling her off for the right things, is not calling her weak for not asserting herself better and convincing Jack to do things her way, is not chastising her for her failure to protect those under her command, is not calling out her hypocrisy in saying she is a protector, when her only skill is lies in taking the lives of others, perhaps this is not what she pictured, but it still is freeing, in a way, to hear herself criticized for things she knows are not true, because it drowns out her worries about the things that _are_.)

“Inside me,” she says, a request and not a plea.

“No,” Angela says, surprising her, “I don’t want to, and I won’t unless you beg.”

Ana supposes she should not be as shocked as she is by the refusal—she knew, of course, that Angela _could_ do this, saw the stubbornness and pride in her, but still, she did not see this coming, and she will _not_ beg.

“If I refuse?” she asks, between breaths, “What will you do then?”

“Nothing,” Angela says, “If you don’t want to do as I say, you can fuck yourself,” and she huffs a little laugh her own pun, breath hot on Ana’s neck.

Were it not for the rough flick at Ana’s clit that accompanies the joke, the mood might be ruined, but as it is, Ana, although still too defiant to beg, remains interested in allowing this to play out.

It would be easier if she gave in, if she begged Angela to give her what she wanted, or touched herself instead, but Ana is unwilling to admit defeat, could never, would never show that sort of weakness in front of anyone—even Angela, even like this.

(Maybe she is prideful, is stubborn, just as Angela says, but she is not weak, will not fold, will not break where anyone can see her.)

Instead, she lets Angela have things her way, lets her think that she has won, and in truth, it is not so terrible, relinquishing control for just a moment—or, rather, giving the illusion of doing so.  She is still in control, she knows this, it is _she_ who has chosen not to plead, after all, not to debase herself so. 

Even without getting what she wants, she still feels herself moving swiftly to the edge, each rough movement of Angela against her accompanied, now, by the panting of her own breath, the hammering of her heart, a tightening inside her, until her orgasm is ripped from her with no warning, and she finds herself held up only by virtue of Angela’s quick reflexes.  It is a harder orgasm than she is used to, shorter but more intense, and she is still regaining her breath when Angela decides to pull both of them down to a seated position.

“I think,” Angela tells her, “That I should win more often.”

The statement was made in jest, because Angela has always _tried_ to win, because she truly believes in all the things she argues for, but Ana does not find it so funny—worries, again, that control is slipping away from her.  “You won’t,” she says, a tad too seriously.

“Come on,” Angela pouts a bit, “This was fun, wasn’t it?”

It was, and Ana does not want Angela to know of her concerns outside of the bedroom, so she deflects, says “Of course it was, but it doesn't have to be over just yet. Let me have my turn.”

Ever eager to please, Angela accepts, and all is forgotten, for Ana is once again the one making decisions.  This was a fluke, that is all, she can maintain control; she must.

**Author's Note:**

> ana, lying to herself: im in control of my life and everything is Absolutely Fine, Thank You :)  
> well, we've all been there. most of us dont follow up the realization that things are Not Fine by faking our own death but u know. w/e
> 
> title is from muna's outro


End file.
